


Oh, Company

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek's POV, Hurt!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of stiles' moms death, Sleepy Cuddles, or even that shippy, really mild tho it's honestly not all that angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misery loves you so...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, Company

**Author's Note:**

> This really isn't much more than a drabble? I just wanted to write some Hurt!Stiles b/c I kind of have a major love for it and that's where this came from. I would have expanded more on the fic's concept, but I'm still working on that massive story and I'm only at 25k so I gotta get my shit together and stop breaking off to write other things.

It’s a late night in November when Derek first notices it.

The pack is gathered at his place, the newly renovated Hale house not the industrial loft he may or may not have been living illegally in, and they’re arguing over what movie to watch first. Derek is sprawled in his favorite chair while he watches the teens bicker and fight; Isaac and Lydia want to watch some rom-com, Scott is vouching for an action flick, Stiles has the newest Marvel movie and he and Erica are fighting for it tooth and nail, and Boyd wants to watch some cheesy horror flick because he has absolutely horrible taste. Jackson is standing with his arms crossed and his expression distant like he doesn’t give two fucks what they end up watching but Derek can tell he’s leaning towards the rom-com.

It should just be a normal movie night for them, only Stiles is talking a little louder, a little faster than he usually does. He’s quicker to laugh than usual and his smile is wide, bright. But it doesn’t feel right, his eyes don’t match the rest of his expression, the split of his lips never reaching his almost empty gaze.

Derek watches him for a few moments and then narrows his senses down until everyone’s heartbeats and scents fade away, until he’s left with nothing but Stiles’ in his ears and on his tongue. It’s like turning the lights off on the rest of the room, leaving a spotlight on the kid, and he can tell that Stiles’ heart rate is way higher than it should be. His scent is also stronger, heavier in a way. It’s a smell Derek knows well because he’s smelled it on himself for years and years; misery.

He doesn’t notice what movie they eventually decide on, but when Scott gets up to go to the bathroom, Derek corners him in the hallway. It’s dark but he doesn’t need light to see Scott’s confused expression when he asks him what’s wrong with Stiles.

“Stiles?” Scott repeats. “Nothing as far as I know, why?”

The alpha frowns at him, uncomprehending. It had taken him a few minutes to realize that something was up with Stiles, but Scott and the rest of the pack were at school with him all day. Surely they picked up on it too?

“He smells completely miserable,” Derek tells him slowly, as if speaking to a child, and Scott just smiles that dopey smile of his.

“Naw man, his scent’s always like that! It’s just him.”

With a huff, Derek lets his beta go, but he doesn’t believe for a second that something’s not wrong. He ends up watching Stiles as covertly as he can throughout the entire movie, the way his face has too many arches and shadows in the flickering light, and how blank his expression is, like he’s not even watching the movie either.

What does that mean, his scent is always like that? How can Scott and the others not know the smell of misery? Maybe Derek is just sensitive to it thanks to his own tragedies, but damn if his pack isn’t being more than a little obtuse.

The idea hits him right when the credits start to roll, that maybe Stiles is just always miserable. The rest of the pack doesn’t know something’s going on because they assume the emotion is just part of his natural smell. So when it gets stronger, when he starts to feel worse, the only one to notice is Derek. He supposes he’s been pretty obtuse too since he hasn’t noticed it until just now himself.

Everyone starts clamoring about the second movie, what they want to watch next, and Derek is pretty sure the rom-com is going to win out this time. But he’s only listening to the argument half way because Stiles is pulling Scott aside and telling him he’s going to leave early, that he’s got some last minute homework he needs to do and yeah he doesn’t want to miss movie night either but he’s already stayed as long as he can. And then he’s announcing his departure to the rest of the room, the wolves all pausing to beg him to stay and then calling goodbyes when he doesn’t budge. He does it all with a smile on his face and his heart doesn’t stutter once over his lies.

Derek listens to his footsteps as he leaves the house, the rattle and clank of the Jeep’s engine when he starts it up, and then tires over dirt as he leaves. The alpha waits exactly ten minutes, the time it will take Stiles to get out of the preserve and out onto the highway, before he follows. His pack give him curious expression now that they’re all settled down for movie number two, but nobody questions him as he grabs the keys for the Camaro and heads out.

The jeep is outside Stiles’ house when Derek parks down the street, but the house is dark and quiet and the Sheriff’s car is nowhere to be seen. When he cuts the engine on the Camaro, he’s suddenly assaulted by the rabbit-quick beating of Stiles’ heart and the faint sound of movement from his bedroom.

In all honesty, Derek isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing here.

He figures it out when he hears Stiles take a ragged breath, wet and strangled and obviously choked with tears despite the fact that he hasn’t been sobbing or making any other noise.

Derek is out his car before he really registers the fact that he’s moving, and then down the street, in the yard, pulling himself up to Stiles’ second story window. He slides it open soundlessly and lets his eyes adjust to the dark room, picking out the huddled shape on the bed. The room smells of salt and misery so thick it chokes him, but he steps inside and closes the window behind himself.

When Stiles notices him, only a few seconds after Derek had actually appeared, he jerks up right and stares at the alpha with wide, startled eyes. Their golden whiskey color is muted in the darkness, making them appear haunted and endless. It’s both beautiful and startling, especially when Derek can see the glimmer of tears along his lower lids, the way his long eyelashes are clumped together, salt tracks down his cheeks.

Neither of them speaks, moves, breathes, until suddenly Stiles is jerking away like he’s been burned, curling his knees up towards his chest. Derek is expecting harsh words, to be told off, distracted, but Stiles just sighs and mutters, “Go away, Derek.”

Derek frowns and sits down on the end of Stiles’ bed, feet of space between them but still feeling slightly intimate. “What’s today?” he asks.

“What?”

“Today,” the alpha explains. “If something had happened to you, the others would know about it. But nothing happened and you smell completely miserable, so it must be something about today, the date.”

The furrow in Stiles’ brow, the one that had appeared when Dark sat down, eases away. His expression is vulnerable but not soft, shock warring with discomfort and hurt before he ducks his head and rubs absently at the back of his neck. If it weren’t for the alpha’s werewolf hearing, he would have missed the soft, “It’s my mom’s birthday.”

That, at least, is something Derek can relate to. But he doesn’t know how to say that, how to offer comfort or condolences because honestly Stiles is handling it a lot better than Derek ever did. He tends to shift on those important dates, anniversaries, birthdays, the date of their deaths, and he just runs. Flat out on all fours, hands and feet exchanged for paws, and he doesn’t look where he’s going or care. He runs until his muscles burn and his breath is ragged and then he runs some more, only stopping when he finds a hollow or den to crawl into and collapse. In the morning he shakes out his fur and follows his scent trail home and doesn’t talk to anyone until after he’s showered and eaten. It’s unhealthy, he knows, but it’s been working for him for years.

His attention is drawn back to the present when Stiles clears his throat gently. He’s looked at Derek now, gaze contemplative. “You can smell stuff like that? Misery?”

Derek shifts, wonders how he should answer. Does he tell Stiles he’s pretty sure the kid smells like it 24/7? Does he ask? Does he just say yes and leave it at that?

“Yeah,” he eventually says, the word slow and drawn out. “We can’t smell emotions themselves exactly, but the body gives off pheromones that are kind of scent indicators.”

Stiles purses his lips, eyes darting from Derek to the window. “Do I need to be worried about the rest of the pack showing up? Are they waiting outside for you to give the signal? Because I’m really not up to that right now.”

“No, I-“ The sentence dies in Derek’s mouth and he snaps it closed, mulling the words over. He and Stiles stare at each other over the length of the bed, silent and still and it’s so uncharacteristic for Stiles to be like this, so against his entire personality.

“I think,” Derek starts again, words soft and gaze focused on the kid’s face, watching for a reaction as he speaks, “I’m the only one who noticed it. My theory is that you’re…always miserable, so to speak, so when it gets worse the pack doesn’t notice because it’s the way you always smell.”

It’s disheartening the way Stiles’ expression shutters closed, but it only lasts for a second before he’s looking vulnerable again, curiosity shining in his eyes as he shuffles closer on the bed. “If nobody ever notices, then how did you?”

“I didn’t notice either, honestly. Not until tonight. The scent was so thick I couldn’t not notice it, and I’m pretty familiar with misery myself so it wasn’t hard to identify.”

Stiles cocks his head to the side, contemplative, and in the brief time that Derek’s been sitting here the heavy smell in the air has dissipated some. It makes something squirm in his stomach, thinking that maybe he’s helping, he’s making Stiles feel better, taking some of that pain away.

“How do you do it?” Stiles eventually asks. “When…on the bad days. What do you do?”

“I run. It’s not healthy.”

The snort of laughter Stiles lets out is undignified but entirely welcome, and Derek finds himself smiling helplessly in response. “I’m guessing you mean in the emotional and mental sense and not the physical.”

“Right.”

Like the air getting lighter around them, Stiles has been slowly inching his way closer, like Derek has some kind of gravitational pull he simply can’t resist. Now, the kid is practically pressed up against his side, and thanks to the way his shoulders are hunched and he’s curled up on himself, he has to look up at Derek when normally they’re about the same height. It’s brought him within the fall of moonlight from the window, and the silver picks out the paleness of his eyes until they practically glow, all amber and honey and soft edges.

“I don’t mean to be miserable all the time, you know,” he says, his voice quieter now that they’re so close together.

Derek licks his lips, nods. “I know.”

“I try to be happy. And I am, I really am, but it’s always there underneath everything else. It never goes away.”

Oh, Derek knows all about that. Could detail intimately (if he could ever get better with his words) how exactly a death aches and aches and aches and never fully goes away, no matter how much time passes. Instead of that though, he just agrees with a soft, “It doesn’t.”

“Can I tell you about her?” Stiles asks. “It hurts to talk about her, but it also feels good too.”

The alpha nods again and then Stiles is off, telling stories about his mother, the things she would say to him, the way she looked and dressed and behaved and how in love her and his father were. Derek sits quietly, never letting his gaze leave Stiles’ even when the kid’s grows vague and distant.

By the time Stiles has talked himself out, the night is just beginning to die and Derek’s eyes feel gritty from staying awake for so long. Stiles has also cried again, and the flesh on his cheeks is still wet when he turns and buries his face in Derek’s shoulder.

The alpha doesn’t even think, just slips an arm around Stiles and hauls him closer. When it’s obvious the kid has fallen asleep, Derek manages to maneuver them until they’re laying properly in the bed, the comforter tugged up around their shoulders and everything.

Derek falls asleep listening to the steady rhythm of Stiles’ breathing and heart beat, calmed after the frantic pace it had been when he’d first arrived.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
